


Net Front Presence

by catwrites



Series: Open Ice [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Dumb Hockey Boys, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwrites/pseuds/catwrites
Summary: Gavin Reed is a solid bottom six player. Good in the defensive end, good at winning battles in the corner.Not so good at talking about his feelings or controlling his temper.





	Net Front Presence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. It's been a long time coming, but here's the Reed900 hockey fic I promised. 
> 
> I figured the end of the season was a good full circle close to this whole mess. 
> 
> Very unbeta'd. Probably hella mistakes, but I'm sad about my real life hockey boys being done, so I'm blaming my sports misery for the mistakes.

All that positive motto bullshit about a trade being a new beginning is just that: bullshit. There’s nothing positive about being uprooted from your team, from your city. Gavin’s been in the show long enough. He’s been traded. He’s been left hanging as the free agency deadline rolls around. He’s done it all. He’s a veteran. 

And he’s too old for this shit. 

He’s just a fucking fourth liner, sometimes third if enough of his teammates are hurt. Without the picks, he probably wasn’t worth even half of what Connor is to a team. To _Detroit_. Connor, who plays top line minutes and special teams. Connor, who’s probably the only thing Markus needs to be back up to snuff. 

Fucking sappy, codependent dickheads. Gavin will never admit to _anyone_ that he’s glad Connor and Markus are back together again, even if it means he gets the boot. If Gavin had to watch Markus make sad faces at his phone for another season, he would have bashed his own skull in. He’ll go on long term IR if it means he doesn’t have to look at that shit ever again. He’s always been a firm believer that there’s no such thing as true love, but it’s hard to keep thinking that when he looks at Connor and Markus.

Gavin packs his bags. Boston got robbed in this deal, that’s for damn sure. The Kamskis are no fools. They know exactly what Connor means to the team’s top line. In more ways than one. And poor Boston took the bait of a conditional first round like chumps. 

It was a smart business move on Detroit’s part for sure. Gavin isn’t feeling too confident in his new team’s front office knowing they fell for a trade like this. 

Whatever, Gavin will go where he’s told. Boston will see soon enough that they got the raw end of this trade. A couple of picks and a fourth liner for Connor Fucking Anderson. Jesus Christ. 

Just in time for the holidays, too. 

He got a message from Connor’s brother when the trade happened, so he has a place to stay that isn’t a hotel at least. Gavin doesn’t know much about Connor’s brothers, but he figures as triplets they have to have something of a similar temperament, right? Honestly, he’ll take anywhere over a hotel. He’s done his time living out of hotels, not sure if he can unpack his bags because he could be sent back down to the minors at the drop of a hat. 

 

**[unknown number]**

**unknown number, 8:34pm:** This is Conan Anderson. I got your number from my brother. I wished to extend an invitation for you to stay with me until you can find something for yourself.   
**me, 8:36pm:** I don’t know about that, bud. I don’t want to make shit harder on you.  
 **unknown number, 8:36pm:** Trust me, you’re saving me from prison time just with your presence on this team. I swear to God, I was going to kill him.  
I was ready to give myself a concussion just to get away from Markus.  
 **unknown number, 8:38pm:** If he was anything like Connor was, I commend your restraint. I’ve got a spare room for you, if you want it.  
 **me, 8:50pm:** Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.

 

He doesn’t even get the luxury of going to his new city first. Boston is playing the Hurricanes tomorrow, so he’ll be flying to meet them team. The front office promised him someone would be waiting for him so he’ll have company on the ride to hotel from the airport. Like having company is going to make the transition easier. 

Gavin gets on a plane, and spends the two-hour flight watching tape of Boston. He’s not going to get to practice with the team. His first introduction to them is going to be for the morning skate. On a game day. He wants to have some kind of idea where he might fit in. 

He waits impatiently as the plane disembarks. He’s ready to sleep. He needs all the rest he can get before trying to deal with the trials of tomorrow. He’s looking around the baggage claim to try and find the team’s representative when he sees who can only be Conan Anderson. Christ all the Andersons look the same. He understands that’s part of the gig with triplets, but damn is it unnerving. 

“Hey, you must be Conan,” Gavin greets as he reaches him. He sticks out his hand. “Gavin.”

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Nines like everyone else. I don’t think anyone calls me Conan,” Nines replies.

Gavin stretches out his fingers when Nines lets go of his hand. Jesus, he has a firm handshake. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, to be honest. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Nines shrugs. “I volunteered. We were already at the airport, figured I’d stick around.”

Gavin raises an eyebrow. “For two hours?” 

“Not like I had anything else to do on a Wednesday night.”

Gavin frowns. “It’s Friday.”

Nines glances at his phone. “So it is.” 

There’s an uncomfortable pause while they look at each other. What the fuck is Gavin getting himself in to?

“Do you have all your stuff? I’d like to get to the hotel before midnight.”

“Hate for you to turn into a pumpkin.”

“What?”

Gavin shakes his head. “Never mind. Yeah, I’m good to go.”

Gavin follows behind Nines to the car that’s waiting to take them to the hotel. He already misses Detroit. He knows goalies are weird, okay. Even Simon had his moments. Like putting on all his equipment in the same order, left to right, every game. Or having to retape his stick if anyone touched it once he’d taped it for the game. Nines is on another plane. 

Maybe he’d rather live out of a hotel for awhile in Boston after all. 

He plays his first game on the fourth line (shocker), and it goes as good as could be expected. He’s not going to be too hard on himself when he didn’t even get a chance to run a full practice with the team before he was playing with a bunch of people he’d never played with before. Overall, it went okay. There were definitely some moments where he wasn’t on the same page with his line, but that will come with time. 

\----

Living with Nines is… challenging to say the least. Gavin is trying, okay? He knows he’s not exactly the easiest guy to get along with. He’s abrasive, and he’s moody most days. He knows he can walk the wrong side of the line between mean and downright cruel. He knows all this, and so he’s trying his damnedest to tone that shit down. Nines just has this air about him, like everything Gavin does amuses him for the wrong reasons. Like his very existence is funny, or some shit. Gavin can’t explain it, but he doesn’t appreciate it at all.

Nines is letting him stay for free in his house, though, so Gavin really has every intention of being on his best behavior. 

“Hey do you have any dark clothes you need washed?” Gavin offers, leaning into the living room where Nines is doing whatever he’s wont to do on his laptop. 

Nines glances up with a furrowed brow. “You want to do my laundry?” 

“I’m putting laundry in. Figured I’d see if you wanted anything to go in with it. It’ll clean the same way. Don’t make it weird.”

Gavin shakes his head as he moves towards the laundry room. He’s getting ready to start the cycle when Nines appears with a few shirts in hand. He holds them out uncertainly, and Gavin rolls his eyes. 

“Throw them in, man.”

Gavin likes the simplicity of folding laundry. It’s mindless work, and sometimes it’s nice to be outside of his thoughts. He can fold and not think about the next game. The player lineups, the styles of play, and which guys he really needs to defend against. 

He’s got it almost completely done, even managed to separate out what doesn’t belong to him with a fair amount of ease, when Nines wanders through to take out the trash.

“Who taught you to fold? A racoon could fold shirts better than you,” Nines comments with a smirk as he slips out the back door.

Gavin glares. All his good intentions leave him, and he locks the door without a second thought. He whistles to himself as he walks out of the laundry room and back up the stairs to put his stuff away in its proper place as Nines pounds on the door angrily. 

Nines doesn’t comment on his folding again. Gavin continues to do the laundry because it’s a simple chore he enjoys and it helps him feel like he isn’t completely freeloading off Nines. 

The thing is, since the team gives them a lot of clothes, if it doesn’t have their numbers on it, they can be kind of hard to tell apart. At first, Gavin mixes things up purely on accident. He’s just folding shirts and putting them in stacks, he’s not paying attention to the sizes. 

Then he realizes how frustrated Nines gets with the mix ups, and well…

“Is that my shirt?” Nines askes, scandalized. 

Gavin glances down at his chest. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s mine.”

“It’s like two sizes too big. That is clearly mine.”

Gavin shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is mine.”

The best part, the absolute best part, is that Nines can’t do jack shit about it while the thing is on Gavin’s person and they both know it. Nines glares at him sullenly, but has to let the topic drop. 

Gavin smirks to himself as he settles on the couch in what is definitely Nines’s preferred spot. 

Nines narrows his eyes at him, and then plants himself as close to Gavin as he can get without actually touching him. Two can play that game. Gavin doesn’t move either. 

At practice the next day, Gavin gets out of the showers only to find that someone has wrapped his shoes together with what looks like an entire roll of stick tape. 

“What the fuck,” he says flatly to his shoes.

Nines is curiously missing from the locker room, though they rode in together this morning. 

Bastard. 

At their next hotel, Gavin pulls off a classic that he learned in the minors. He fills one of his room’s trashcans with water and takes it down the hall to Nines’s room. He carefully leans it against the door, and then knocks. 

He takes off running as soon as he sees the handle move.

“REED, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

At their next morning skate, his skate laces have been cut. 

Gavin unscrews the cap on Nines’s Gatorade so it spills all over his face when he tries to drink from it.

Nines shoves gum down into the finger of his gloves before a game.

They’re jumpy and suspicious of one another, constantly on their toes. Gavin has been involved in prank wars before, but this is next level. 

Neither one of them are willing to call a cease fire.

“You’re nothing compared to Curtis and Connor when they want to be little shits. Is this the best you got?" 

And well, Gavin isn’t one to back down from a challenge. 

Gavin balls up the tape he had around his socks and pegs Nines in the face with a satisfying _whap_ as he’s giving an interview across the locker room.

Nines turns and glares daggers at him, but Gavin just smirks. 

One of the dmen, Brown, whistles. “How do you do that, dude? If you were anyone else, Nines would have your balls on a necklace for the shit you’ve been pulling.”

Gavin tilts his head in confusion. “What? Brownie, he’s harmless. He’s all bark, no bite. Connor’s the Anderson that will throw down.”

Brown looks unconvinced. “Whatever you say, Reed. I’ll remember you fondly.”

Gavin pokes around a little, and the general consensus is that Nines’s resting bitch face scares most of the guys into not doing anything that might cause Nines to lose his infamous temper. 

Gavin thinks that’s some bullshit, but whatever. He’ll prank Nines for everyone. They’re all missing out on the absolutely hilarious faces Nines makes when he realizes he’s the victim of a prank. Having been safe from such a fate for as long as he’s been in the league leaves him beautifully vulnerable to exploitation. 

It makes Gavin notice how little the team jokes around with Nines, though. They talk to him, sure, but there’s none of the easy ribbing that comes so naturally with other teammates. Gavin is the only one who talks shit back when Nines questions his play making in games, too. Huh. Maybe Nines was the odd man out before Gavin got traded mid-season. Gavin doesn’t get that. Nines is honestly a mellow guy, most of the time. Sure, if he gets scored on because one of them is being dumb, he’ll throw things around a bit. Honestly, though, Gavin doesn’t blame him. If _he_ was being left out to dry behind their sometimes-questionable defense, he’d be kind of pissed too.

It’s that questionable defense that gets them knocked out of the playoffs in the Conference Finals. 

“Are you going back to Detroit for the summer?” Nines asks him while they’re watching TV a few nights after the loss. 

They’re in what has become the usual spot for them, probably too close together, but after their psychological war over the best spot on the couch, they’ve resorted to almost sharing it.

Gavin’s invitation for Markus and Connor’s wedding is hanging on the fridge with a magnet he got from Fenway Park. He’s already RSVP’d. He was a casualty in their epic, star-crossed love. He’s going to see it through to the end. Plus, he still has some stuff he needs to pack up and move out of his old place so he can sell it. Hell, even his car is still in Detroit. He’ll have to drive that back. 

He’s got three years left on his contract, and as of right now, those three years will be in Boston. Might as well get as much of his stuff to Boston while he can. He should probably start looking at houses, too.

“Yeah. Gotta go see the NHL’s biggest wedding. Plus, selling my house over there. Getting my car back over here.”

Nines glances over at him. “Are you telling me you still have more shit to bring home? Don’t you already have enough clutter?”

Gavin grimaces into his beer bottle. He’s liked living with Nines. It’s been… nice. He hasn’t really shared space with anyone since his first year in the NHL when he stayed with one of the veterans on the team until he could find a place of his own. He knew, eventually, he would wear out his welcome. 

“I figure I’ll start looking at places in Boston once I’ve sold, so hopefully all my excess clutter will be out of your way soon.”

Nines looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Oh. I didn’t… you’re…” 

“I’m?” Gavin prompts.

Nines stares at the TV, playing a commercial for some kind of kitchen set. “I just figure, you know, with our busy off season, and then the actual season starting, it’ll be hard to find time to house hunt. Plus, the housing market in Boston is abysmal. What I mean by that is there’s no need to rush. You’ve got a place here.”

Gavin looks at the side of Nines’s head in surprise before he leans back more comfortably into the couch. “Well, alright then.”

There’s a comfortable silence, before Nines speaks up again.

“So, you’re planning to drive back from Detroit?” 

“Yeah, that’s the easiest way to get the car back,” Gavin replies with a smirk.

“Ha ha,” Nines says sarcastically. “Do you want company?”

Gavin turns to look at him. “You’d ride back with me on a twelve-hour drive?”

Nines shrugs casually. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

Gavin hums agreeably. “Yeah, sure man. That’d be nice.”

\----

Gavin and Nines fly into Detroit together, but part ways for the offseason. Gavin has a full schedule, trying to sell his house and pack all his shit together. 

Gavin gets lunch a few times from some of his old teammates. Tina even helps him pack up his kitchen into boxes, which she really uses as an excuse to get a free dinner, but Gavin doesn’t complain. Much. For the most part, though, he doesn’t see anyone until the day of the wedding. 

“Congratulations,” Gavin tells Markus as soon as the ceremony is over and the reception is in full swing. Gavin likes weddings, if only for the open bar. 

“Thanks! I’m glad you could make it. How is Boston?” Markus asks with a smile. 

Gavin shrugs. “It’s good. Nothing too different than what I was doing in Detroit.”

“What’s it like living with Nines?”

Gavin glances across the dance floor to where Nines is standing with his brothers. They look strikingly similar, but now that he knows two of the three triplets well enough, he can tell them apart from this distance just by their posture. (It helps that Connor is in a different color than Nines and Curtis, but Gavin really can tell them apart, honest.)

“He’s a cool dude. We had a rough start, but I think we’re getting on okay now.”

Markus grins. “Good to hear. He was ready to kill you when you locked him out of the house.”

Gavin laughs in disbelief. “I was doing _our_ laundry, and he had the nerve to tell me the way I was folding stuff was wrong.”

“So, you locked him out of the house.”

Gavin nods. “So, I locked him out of the house.”

Markus shakes his head with a smile. “Well, I’m glad you two are getting along better, now. He’s kind of scary sometimes.” 

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Not you too. He isn’t scary.”

Markus raises an eyebrow. “That’s because you’re just a bad. Of course he doesn’t scare you.”

“I’m not scary,” Gavin protest, glancing around to the people standing with them for support.

Josh shrugs, then grins. “You have your moments, man.”

Gavin scowls.

“That isn’t helping anything,” Markus says with a laugh and claps him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. We still like you. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go see what my _husband_ is up to.”

Gavin pretends to gag. “Gross.”

North snorts. “You’re lucky. You’ve missed how absolutely sappy they’ve been since the trade. I can’t decide if I’m jealous or annoyed.”

Gavin looks at them, leaning into one another with soft smiles. “Maybe jealous.”

North nods as Markus nuzzles into Connor’s neck and Connor beams at everyone around them. “Probably jealous.”

She sticks out her wine glass. “To being single and bitter.”

Gavin laughs and taps his beer against her glass.

\----

The drive from Detroit to Boston is long, and despite how much Nines makes fun of his driving, and his taste in music, and the way Nines snores when he eventually falls asleep in the passenger seat, Gavin is glad to have the company. 

Gavin rolls his eyes when Nines falls asleep. He thought it was common courtesy to stay awake as the person in the passenger seat on a road trip. He taps out a rhythmless beat on the steering wheel and decides magnanimously to let Nines sleep, even when the snoring starts.

Eventually, the monotony of staring out the windshield forces him to relieve his boredom anyway he can. He smirks as he turns up the radio.

"Open up my eager eyes, cause I'm mister bright side," Gavin scream-sings over Brandon Flowers. 

Nines jolts awake in his seat, glancing around wildly before glaring.

"What the fuck. Gavin, turn this shit down."

"Take that back right now. This is not shit. You can walk the rest of the way to Boston if you talk bad about The Killers again," Gavin says, affronted. 

Nines glares out the window. "Kindly turn the music down, please."

Gavin smiles as he does. "You're supposed to be keeping me company on the drive. None of this falling asleep shit."

"How do you want me to entertain you, then?" Nines asks him sarcastically.

Gavin grins. 

Hearing Nines sing Sweet Caroline at the top of his lungs is worth the earlier boredom.

Gavin gets his stuff moved in, and settles fully into Boston just in time for training camp to roll around. 

Gavin runs drills with his line. He does faceoff drills with the coaches, much to Nines's amusement. 

"You could definitely use some work on the dots," Nines calls across the ice from the net.

"Hey, get back to your breakaway drills. I know you love those."

“Just calling it like I see it, Reed." 

"Have you seen Connor take faceoffs? He doesn't even put his hands in the right spots on the stick," Gavin points out indignantly, standing up and turning towards him. It's a bad example because Connor is a winger. It's not something he really has to focus on as much.

Coach taps his stick on the ice. "Reed, pay attention. Bicker with Nines later. Nines, stop chirping Reed."

Gavin sticks his tongue out at Nines before he gets back into position.

They come out of the gate sprinting at the beginning of the season. It’s an incredible feeling, winning game after game. Gavin even gets moved up to the third line because he had five points in six games to start off.

They’re playing against Montreal, and even though the rivalry isn’t quite as strong as it used to be, it’s a chippy game. Gavin has already been drilled into the boards more times than he can count.

Brown takes the puck back into their zone and post up behind the net, waiting for one of the forwards to come grab it and move it back into the offensive zone. Gavin swings back and gets the puck, only to clip the side of the net with enough force to lift it up off its moorings. Gavin stops hard as the net sways forward. Nines thankfully realizes what’s happening as it happens because he shrinks down so the net doesn’t actually hit him. Just… traps him inside. 

Nines worms his way out the back before anyone manages to stand the fallen net up just so he can glare more effectively at Gavin. The referee blows the whistle for a TV timeout. Which means Nines has two minutes to chew Gavin out by the benches. 

Perfect. 

Nines rips his helmet off as he follows Gavin towards their bench, shouting indignantly as they go.

“I didn’t _mean_ to do it, Christ,” Gavin says over Nines complaining for the third time.

The rest of their team is watching them quietly, some of them openly laughing, as Nines tears Gavin a new one.

Gavin is tuning him out, staring up at the jumbotron above the ice. So, he sees immediately when it happens. Nines isn’t looking at the jumbotron, is ranting at Gavin, but it’s clear some of their teammates are because the bench goes silent. The only thing Gavin can hear besides Nines _still talking_ is the scrapping of the shovels as the crew clears away the layer of snow on top of the ice. Even the crowd is silent. A hush as everyone realizes what they’re seeing. 

They’re on the fucking kiss cam. Some kind of joke by the in-arena entertainment for sure. Gavin glances over at Nines, who is still yammering away about how shitty his play was, and blah blah blah. 

Huh.

Gavin smirks at him, and Nines pauses mid-sentence in confusion, rant derailed. Gavin tilts his head up to indicate the jumbotron. 

Nines follows the motion and then scowls. 

Gavin darts in, intending to press a kiss to Nines’s cheek because he’s always been the kind that likes to play into a joke. Instead, Nines turns to say something to him, and Gavin lands one right on Nines’s slightly parted lips. 

The crowd cheers. The bench roars to life laughing. Nines stares at him when he pulls away. He thinks he’s probably blushing, but the wide-eyed shock on Nines is more than worth it. Gavin gives him one last smirk before he hops back over the boards and settles down onto the bench. Nines stares at him as he pulls his mask down and skates back to the net slowly. The TV timeout ends. Gavin is sure he’s going to catch hell for that later, maybe during the intermission, but definitely when they get home.

He’s not expecting to catch hell from the press, but here he is.

He doesn’t get to talk to the media much because he likes to make it as uncomfortable as possible for the reporters.

(“Yeah, we rode their D hard, but they have some great legs on their team.” Or “That was probably one of the bigger ones I’ve taken. He’s a big boy, and he got me good.”)

He’s shouldn’t be surprised when he gets some media request. The PR manager looks at him skeptically, but Gavin shrugs, feigning innocence. 

“Behave,” their manager warns.

“I always behave,” Gavin says, and then winks.

The media starts off with some simple questions about the game. About their win and the goals scored. 

(“Yeah, good things happen when you get it in deep.”)

Then, they get to the real issue.

“So, you pinned your tendy in pretty good there.”

Gavin laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t realize I could get it up with the way I came at it. By the time I realized what had happened, it was too late and Nines just had to take it.”

“And it seems like afterwards the jumbotron had some fun with you.”

Gavin smirks. “All in good fun, right? Figured I owed Nines an apology after I pinned him down like that.”

“That’ll be the final question,” their PR manager announces, looking mildly distressed. 

Gavin smiles at everyone as he waves and gets ushered out of the press room.

Trust them to decide with him and Nines to read into it, when they couldn’t even figure out Connor and Markus were a couple with explicit statements from both of them. 

**’Romance brewing in Boston!?’**

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 8:45pm:** got something to share with the class, Reed?  
 **me, 8:45pm:** Get fucked, Tina.   
**Chener, 8:45pm:** well you definitely aren’t getting any on the regular with that attitude.   
**me, 8:46pm:** We were on the kiss cam, I thought it was funny. I didn’t think the media would decide that clearly because they missed the blatantly obvious with the world’s most affectionate public couple, they won’t make that mistake again.  
 **Chener, 8:46pm:** pretty sure Markus and Connor are having a crisis because of it… though the media throwing shade is kind of funny   
**Chener, 8:47pm:** “Where Detroit missed the glaringly obvious, we won’t be so easily duped. Is there love in the air at TD Garden?”  
 **me, 8:48pm:** Nines is going to kill me.  
 **Chener, 8:48pm:** rip :(

 

Nines is, somewhat shockingly, completely unfazed by the whole thing. In fact, Gavin thinks he finds the situation mildly amusing. 

“Connor won’t stop complaining to me about it. The media will let it go soon enough. I can’t believe you actually went along with the stupid kiss cam, but no one is hurt besides Connor’s pride. He could stand to be knocked down a few pegs. Don’t kiss me again, and things should go back to normal within the week.”

Gavin rolls his eyes.

The thing is, it probably would all have blown over if Gavin wasn't such an absolute _idiot_. See, Gavin still does the laundry because they somehow managed to break up the household chores without even an argument. Gavin does laundry and the dishes. Nines cooks and takes out the trash. They take turns buying groceries, and clean the house together once a month.

It works for them.

But, Gavin's gotten into the bad habit of taking Nines's clothes. He likes wearing baggier shirts around the house for the comfort. Nines doesn't even care anymore. In fact, Gavin knows for a fact Nines has borrowed his jacket on several occasions. Honestly, if Nines had a legitimate problem with it, he would stop. They're at that level of friendship.

So, Gavin, with his bad habit of borrowing clothes mixed with the fact that he's running late to getting lunch with Tina while Detroit is in town, he isn't paying attention. He normally doesn't wear Nines's clothes out of the house. Normally, he's so careful about not grabbing things with Nines's number on it. 

He apparently missed one.

When he shows up at the restaurant, already mumbling apologies as he slides into the booth across from Tina, she's staring at him.

"I thought you said it was just a joke, and there was nothing going on," Tina hisses, slapping his arm.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he gripes, smiling tightly as the waitress hands him a menu and takes his drink order.

"Your shirt, dipshit," she says slowly, like he's particularly dense.

He glances down at his chest, the spoked B for the Bruins. He doesn't get it.

She sighs, extremely put upon. "The number on the back?"

Realization dawns on him, horror making him groan as he drops his head onto the table.

"Shit. It's not like that. I mixed up shirts in the laundry and didn't notice. We play for the same team. It was an honest mistake,” he explains, which is at least partially true.

She raises an eyebrow. "Funny timing."

"I know," Gavin says miserably. 

"Do you want to go home and change?" 

Gavin shakes his head grimly. "The damage is probably already done. If he didn't kill me the first time, he's definitely going to kill me now."

The damage is definitely already done. 

He’s still sitting with Tina when Nines texts him.

“Shit,” he tells her solemnly when his phone lights up on the table.

 

**[Nines]**

**Nines, 2:08pm:** https://twitter.com/PuckBoston/status/1049083237224656  
 **Nines, 2:09pm:** Is there something you want to tell me?  
 **me, 2:09pm:** Uh….   
**Nines, 2:09pm:** We’ll discuss this when you get home.

 

Gavin winces as he clicks on the link and looks at a picture of himself walking down the street with a giant, unmistakable 9 on his back. 

“I don’t think I’ll be playing in the game tonight. He’s absolutely going to kill me.”

“Please let me deliver your eulogy,” Tina says, grinning. 

“Hell no. You’ll do nothing but trash talk me the whole time.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in fond remembrance of the NHL’s biggest dumbass,” she says, pretending to dab tears away from her eyes.

“I would hate to take that title from you,” Gavin says, laughing when she squawks in protest.

Gavin sighs. “I guess I need to go home and face the music.”

“If I don’t see you at the game, I’ll call in your missing person case,” Tina promises.

Gavin salutes her and stands up. “You’ve been a good friend to me.”

Nines is on his laptop in the living room when Gavin comes through the front door. 

“Look, I can explain. I don’t normally take your stuff if it has a number on it, or your name. Then I was running late, and I wasn’t paying attention. I just threw on a shirt, and well…”

Nines is looking at him, expression blank.

“Jesus, just yell at me already, okay? I can’t undo it, and I apologized. There’s nothing more I can do.”

Nines doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and grabs his phone off the coffee table. 

Gavin accepts it suspiciously when it’s handed to him.

 

**[Triple Threat]**

**Cujo, 1:56pm:** i see your boyfriend is out on the town with another girl. trouble in paradise already?  
 **me, 1:56pm:** What the fuck are you talking about, Cujo?  
 **Cujo, 1:56pm:** https://twitter.com/CelebSightings/status/1093059684003  
 **Connor, 1:57pm:** Are you sleeping with Gavin????  
 **me, 1:57pm:** No? He does the laundry. I think he must have mixed up our shirts.  
 **Connor, 1:57pm:** That’s not what the Boston media seems to think!! What the fuck. Markus and I couldn’t even get them to report us as dating when we told them we were. You’re on the kiss cam once, and Gavin wears your shirt and suddenly you’re Boston’s new power couple.  
 **me, 1:58pm:** Sorry? I think that’s a little extreme, though. I haven’t seen a single article calling us a power couple.  
 **Connor, 1:58pm:** UGH  
 **Cujo, 1:59pm:** chill fam it’s not like nines is doing it on purpose  
 **Connor, 1:59pm** Whatever. I’m scoring on you tonight just for this affront.

 

Gavin glances up from the phone, and Nines is smirking. 

“I’m not mad. I didn’t even have to do anything and Connor is losing his shit, so we’re good. Just, let’s try not to make this into a habit, okay? I don’t like being in the news.”

Gavin hands the phone back. “Yeah, because all you get is negative press. What was the last one? ‘Anderson’s meltdown unbecoming of a goalie’?”

Nines sniffs delicately and tosses his phone down onto the cushion next to him. “’Anderson’s temper tantrum unbecoming of an NHL netminder’, actually.” 

Gavin smirks. “See, at least now you’re in the news because your heart is full of love.”

Nines rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Reed.”

“That’s not a very loving way to address the guy who does your laundry and so helpfully annoyed your brother for you.”

“Please, fuck off.”

Gavin laughs as he heads upstairs. 

\----

Gavin likes when Detroit is in town, but only because it means he can see his old teammates before or after the game. He does not, however, enjoy playing against them. Detroit’s top line is one of the best in the league, and their top defensive pair is as solid as they come. 

Gavin is glad he’s just a lowly bottom six player. There’s no way he’s getting passed Luther or Kara. On top of their impressive defense, Connor has a mission to score on Nines, and Markus and North are happily along for the ride. They’d walk him, easy. He’s not looking to make a highlight reel on the wrong end as those three break ankles up and down the ice. 

He tries not to be too in his head about it, but he definitely makes some sloppy passes. He turns over the puck three times in neutral ice, and Chris levels him with a solid check at the blueline.

Then, the puck goes off his ass and into the net behind Nines during a mad scramble for possession in front. Nines glares daggers at him from behind his mask. All in all, he’s having himself the kind of game he’d rather forget he ever played.

“I’ll get that one back,” Gavin promises the room at large when they trudge down the tunnel for the second intermission. They’re tied at 3-3. 

Gavin does end up scoring a goal, and it’s a beautiful tip-in on a shot from the point. 

Gavin doesn’t have many game winners to his name, but he just went up by one. He thinks that more than compensates for his own ass-goal. 

\----

By the middle of November, they’re riding comfortably at the top of the standings.

Gavin doesn’t get much time of the penalty kill. (Usually because his dumb ass is in the box, sitting out his two minutes impatiently.)

He’s out on the kill now, though, trying to fend off the Devils after Henriksen took a double-minor for high-sticking. Just because there was a little blood, now they have to play shorthanded for four minutes. Gavin hates blocking shots, but he sees the play developing and he slides into the shooting lane.

He blocks the shot, alright. It catches him on the ankle, right above his skate. His leg twists out from under him, and he goes down hard. He gets slowly to his feet, but his ankle twinges any time he tries to put weight on it. He grits his teeth, pushing himself along, and doing his best to keep with the play. As soon as Panek clears it, he hauls ass over to their bench as fast as he can on his one good leg. Panek helpfully shoves him along, and steadies him at the bench door so he doesn’t further hurt himself tumbling to the ice.

He limps over to the trainer and lets himself be led off down the tunnel. 

The medical staff immediately stick him in a boot. Apparently, having vulcanized rubber hit his ankle at over a hundred miles per hour wasn’t good for him.

“It seems like a high ankle sprain.”

Gavin nods. “Okay. How long?” 

He gets a look from the doctor. “At least six weeks, but you have to stay off it. Keep it in the boot, and ice it. Don’t even think about setting foot on the ice. If you feel better in four weeks, we’ll reevaluate. It’s going to be painful, and you’ll probably see some swelling.”

Gavin nods along, scowling, but he’s not stupid. He knows if he pushes it, he’ll just fuck up his leg and then he’ll be forced out of the game indefinitely. He’s already going to be on long-term IR. 

He puts his (good) foot down at the crutches. “No. I’ll manage without.”

The doctor scowls at him. “Suit yourself. When you change your mind, come see me. I’ll keep ‘em ready for you.” 

Gavin shakes his head. That’s a hell no on the crutches. He’ll limp around like an idiot without them, thanks. 

Nines look severely unimpressed when he limps into the locker room during the final intermission. 

“You realize that I have a bunch of gear on to protect me from the puck, unlike your apparently fragile ankle.”

Gavin scoffs. “They tell me to block shots, I block shots.”

“You don’t do anything anyone tells you. Like when I tell you not to leave your dirty dishes on the coffee table.”

“I am a model roommate. I was going to pick it up, but then I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to you shouting.”

Nines looks affronted. “I do not shout. I asked you to pick up your dishes.”

Gavin shakes his head. “I won’t do it again, if that’s what you want. Now, stop distracting everyone. You’ve still got a game to win.”

Nines looks at Gavin’s leg encased in the boot with a frown. “You should be out there, you idiot. You need to be more careful.”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “I didn’t get hurt on purpose, thanks.”

Nines looks like he has more to say, but coach is standing in the middle of the room to address the team, so he doesn’t get the chance.

When they get home after a solid win, Gavin takes the boot off so he can do as told and ice his ankle. Nines frowns at him as he struggles to get comfortable, before he huffs impatiently. 

“Give that here.”

That’s how Gavin ends up with his sad ankle in Nines’s lap while Nines carefully holds the icepack to it. 

Gavin lets his head rest on the back of the couch, and finds himself watching Nines scroll on his phone more so than the tv.

Gavin hates watching games from the press box, and the thought of spending six weeks’ worth of games there makes him unreasonably irritable and snappish. The boot isn’t helping matters. He takes notes about plays and doodles in the margins of his notebook to try and make the time pass faster. 

Thankfully, the team is at least still doing well. It’s even worse to watch your team lose from the press box.

“Back-hand, five-hole from center ice,” Gavin says gleefully again. They still won the game, but Nines let in an embarrassingly bad fluke goal that ruined his bid for a shutout. 

With their solid three goal lead and under four minutes left in the game, Gavin hadn’t really held back as he laughed in his seat.

Nines scowls, hunching his shoulders up around his ears. “Do you remember who drove you here? I’m willing to leave you behind should you continue.”

Gavin smirks, limping along after him. He’d be more willing to believe the threat if Nines wasn’t taking carefully measured strides to make sure he doesn’t outpace Gavin in his boot. 

“If one of my best defensive forwards hadn’t been an idiot and blocked a shot he didn’t need to, perhaps that wouldn’t have happened,” Nines says stiffly, before holding a door open for Gavin in a way that really undermines his harsh tone.

“I don’t possibly see how me blocking a shot three games ago has anything to do with you not being able to stop that from sliding in under you. From center ice.”

“I’m aware of where the shot came from, thank you,” Nines complains, holding the car door open as Gavin struggles to get situated in the passenger seat.

“Too bad about your shutout,” Gavin reminds him, smiling angelically as Nines slams the car door.

\----

Gavin is back on the ice, practicing with the team, exactly four weeks after he found himself strapped into a boot. The trainer glares at him suspiciously.

“If you feel even a little discomfort, get your ass off the ice.”

“I’m not made of glass. I’m already in a no-contact jersey. What more do you want, huh?”

So, he skates with the team, carefully testing his ankle. He doesn’t take line rushes, but he’s still out on the ice, which is one step closer to returning than he was yesterday. 

Brownie jostles him excitedly. “Glad you have you back, man. We need you out on the ice.”

Nines, standing by them while he adjusts his neck guard, carefully maneuvers Brown away. “Watch it. No contact, remember?”

Gavin snorts, and plucks at the vivid red of the practice jersey he’s wearing. “I don’t think he can forget, Nines. A little shoving isn’t going to knock me down.”

Nines glares at him and snaps his mask back down into place. “It doesn’t take much rotation on that bad ankle and you’ll be out longer.”

“Sorry,” Brown agrees, sliding back to give Gavin more room.

“It’s fine, Brown. Nines is being dramatic, as usual. Don’t mind him.”

“Whatever. Don’t come crying to me to hold your icepack later.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, and gently bumps his shoulder against Brown just to see Nines eyebrows furrow in frustration through the bars of his mask. 

Gavin’s back in the lineup three days later. It feels good.

The holidays creep up on them. Nines halfheartedly puts up a tree the weekend before Christmas while Gavin criticizes helpfully from the couch.

“If you care so much, you’re welcome to come over here and hang ornaments with me,” Nines says sarcastically as Gavin points out that there are two similar looking ornaments a few branches apart.

“Nah, I’d hate to take away your fun.”

Nines huffs. “No need to be such a grinch.”

“You’re only putting it up because you volunteered to host the team party after Christmas.”

“Which you will also be here for,” Nines points out.

“Everyone already knows I’m no fun. I have no image to protect,” Gavin explains, though he does haul himself off the couch.

Nines hands him an ornament with a smug grin.

In their last game before the holiday break, a shot hits Nines’s helmet, and the strap breaks. His helmet slides off, and that should get a whistle. Gavin sees the next shot coming, and well, fuck his goalie doesn’t have his helmet on. What else is he going to do?

He dives into the shooting lane, and it catches him right under his jaw, in the throat. He drops like a stone, breath completely knocked from his lungs. There’s a commotion, and the Vegas players are yelling about something, but Gavin is too busy trying to catch his breath. 

“You have to stop play when a goalie’s helmet comes off, you absolute morons!” 

Gavin hears Nines arguing, can hear the other team protesting. He sits up slowly, and their net is completely off it’s moorings. 

He still feels short of breath, but he catches onto the ankle of Brown, who was at his side as soon as he went down.

“What the fuck happened?” he manages to wheeze out. His voice is wrecked, and Brown has to lean down to hear him.

“Nines flipped the net over. He’s pissed.”

Gavin can see that much, at least. Nines is gesturing wildly, at the net, at his helmet, at Gavin himself. 

“Never mind him, though. Are you okay?”

Before he can get to his feet or answer Brown, the trainers are at his side. They look at his neck, at his jaw, into the back of his throat.

“I’m okay,” he manages to say. It wasn’t a hard shot, thankfully. It just hurt like a bitch and winded him. 

He sounds like he’s been gargling razor blades, but he’s okay. 

“Are you sure? You want to stay in the game?”

Gavin nods, and gets to his feet. “I’m fine.”

After the game, he does the press. He doubts they’ll get great audio out of him. He can barely talk above a whisper, but hey, if they want him, they’ll get him.

“You’ve had some recent bad luck blocking shots, it seems.” 

Gavin snorts. “Tell me about it. That’s why I never did it in Detroit. I wasn’t going to do it again after I hurt my ankle.”

“What happened this time?”

“Nines wasn’t wearing a mask. I wasn’t going to let it hit him in the face.”

“What did you think about his response and the resulting penalty?” 

“The referees made a mistake. They should have blown play dead the second he lost his mask. I think it was a completely reasonable thing to do in response. He could have been hurt.”

“Like you.”

Gavin shrugs. “Merry Christmas to me, am I right?”

The press laughs, and the PR manager kindly ushers them out so Gavin can go home.

Nines watches him the entire drive back. He offered to drive, but Gavin, damn his own hubris, had waved him off. Gavin is trying to focus on the road, but he can feel Nines watching him, can see it out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” he snaps finally as they pull up to a red light.

Nines doesn’t say anything, for a while, until:

“Light’s green.”

Gavin scowls, and does his best to ignore Nines. He just wants to be home and in his bed. He’ll figure out Nines in the morning.

“Thank you,” Nines says quietly as Gavin turns the car off in the driveway.

“What?” 

Nines gestures vaguely at Gavin. “For blocking the shot so it wouldn’t hit me.”

“Oh,” Gavin says uncomfortably, and doesn’t know what else to add. 

“I knocked the net over as soon as you went down. I was afraid you were hurt worse. I’m relieved that’s not the case.”

Before Gavin can respond to that, Nines is out of the car and into the house. 

**’Andrson Flips Shit, Flips Net.’**   
**’Anderson Throws Another Temper Tantrum, Should the NHL Allow his Behavior?’**   
**’Other Goalies Sound Off on Anderson’s Stunt.’**   
**’Is This Love? Boston Forward Takes Puck to Throat for Netminder.’**

Gavin reads the articles in the morning. He hasn’t found the will to get up yet, and he doesn’t know how to apologize to Nines for the heat he’s taking when he flipped the net to make sure Gavin was okay. 

He’s just glad they have three days off for the holidays now.

\---- 

They have a team Christmas party at their place on the 26th. Nines even cooks for the occasion. Gavin’s only contribution is to buy a twelve pack, and they’ll just have to accept that as enough from him. God knows he can’t cook for shit. 

He’s pleasantly buzzed, and walking back into the kitchen to get another drink, when he bumps into Nines. He hasn’t really seen Nines all night, but they pause there in the doorway together. Nines stares down at him, face blank. Gavin opens his mouth to say something, hopefully sarcastic and witty, but he pauses uncertainly when Nines reaches out and brushes his fingers over Gavin’s neck. 

There’s still a bruise there, bright purple and blue against his throat from the last shot he blocked that he really, really shouldn’t have. In the replays, it’s clearly going wide, but he didn’t know that at the time. And in his mind, all he could see is Markus’s ugly busted face, and he couldn’t let that happen to Nines. 

The weird tension Gavin can’t name is broken when there’s a wolf whistle, and then everyone is laughing.

“Mistletoe,” someone helpfully explains from the shadows of the other room.

Gavin looks up, and sure enough. 

“Who the fuck put that there?” he asks in awe. It’s their fucking house and neither one of them would have done that. It’s not team only, open to families and significant others. They even have games and shit set up for the kids, but they still wouldn’t have put up mistletoe. 

Gavin suspects Panek, that little shit. 

“Come on, it’s no worse than a kiss cam,” says the number one suspect. 

Gavin glances at Nines, whose face is impassive as ever. Gavin is maybe a little drunk. He’s definitely not sober, and there _is_ mistletoe. He’s not going to kill the holiday spirit. 

He leans forward, and Nines doesn’t shy away. 

Nines’s moves his hand back up to brush against Gavin’s bruise, and shit he’s definitely drunk. He’s so, so drunk. In his mind, he’s just going in for a peck. It’ll be just like the kiss cam, except then Nines’s fingers are soft against his throat, and he lets Gavin back him into the door frame, and well. 

It’s all in good fun, right? Mistletoe is fun, and there’s no need to think too hard about the fact that he has his tongue in Nines’s mouth. That Nines is not only letting him, but is kissing him _back_. It’s just mistletoe. It doesn’t mean anything. 

He pulls away, smirking at Nine’s wide eyes and the way he stays flat against the doorframe. His face is flushed, and Gavin can’t remember if it was like that before or if that’s a result of what they just did. He looks good. Gavin can barely hear their rowdy teammates over the rushing sound in his ears.

“I need another drink,” he announces to the room, before he slides by Nines and into the kitchen like he’d initially intended.

Shit. He takes a beer out of the fridge and holds it against his cheek to try and combat some of the flush. He doesn’t know if his face feels hot because of the alcohol or something else. 

He’ll pretend it’s just the alcohol. He stands in the kitchen for another minute before he forces himself to go back out into the crowd.

He can feel Nines watching him the rest of the night.

He kind of hopes in the end that he won’t remember anything. Won’t remember the kiss, or the mistletoe, or how Nines had looked at him while touching the bruise on his throat. He wakes up with a pounding head, and for a few minutes doesn’t think about anything other than that.

Then he looks at his phone. It’s almost noon, but he isn’t immediately alarmed because all he has is a single text from Tina. Probably a dumb meme. 

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 7:27am:** Do you want to tell me about this story I’m hearing where you and Nines were necking hardcore under some mistletoe last night?  
 **me, 11:53am:** what? just mistletoe, tina. fuck off  
 **Chener, 11:55am:** this picture doesn’t just look like mistletoe, bud

 

Everything in him grinds to a halt. He sits up fast and calls her.

“Who sent you a picture?” 

“Good morning. Glad to hear from you, Gavin. I’ve been doing fine,” Tina says sarcastically. 

“Tina, who sent you the picture? Is it online anywhere? Fuck, we were in our house. It shouldn’t be out on the internet.” 

“It’s not on the web.“

“Delete it, and tell me who sent it to you.”

There’s a lengthy pause. “It’s okay for you to admit you like him, you know.”

“Just fucking delete it, okay? What’s so fucking hard about that? Fuck.”

“Christ, whatever. I wasn’t going to do anything with it, and no one has posted it anywhere. No one is going to. We just thought you might want to talk.”

“Who is we?” 

Tina sighs. “Gavin.”

“Fucking excuse me for thinking I have privacy in my own house with my teammates.”

Tina is quiet again. “You’re right. God, you’re right. I’ll fix it, okay? Sorry.”

Gavin rubs his face, the pounding in his temples suddenly more than he can stand. 

“It didn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. I was drunk, and there was mistletoe.”

Gavin says it, but all he can think about is Nine’s fingers against his throat and the high flush on his cheeks.

“Okay, Gavin,” Tina agrees, sounding small and guilty. “I’m sorry about the picture.”

Gavin falls back into his pillows and closes his eyes. “It’s fine. I just can’t let that get out. I don’t want to cause anymore trouble for him. Nines told me he doesn’t like to be in the news because he feels like it’s always negative for him. Then I do more stupid shit and get him thrown into the headlines all over again.”

Tina makes a noise of understanding on the other end of the line. “No one will see the picture, Gavin. It’ll be okay.”

Gavin nods. “Okay.”

Panek comes up to him at practice, digging his skate into the ice uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to do anything with it. I only sent it to Chen because she asked me to keep an eye on you. She says she’s worried you won’t have any friends.”

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose. “What? I have friends.”

Panek nods hurriedly to agree. “Yes, of course you do. Anyway, I just wanted you to know the picture is gone. I deleted it and Chen deleted hers, and no one else had one in the first place.”

Gavin waves him off. “It’s fine, kid. Just, please don’t do that again, okay? I’m in the doghouse enough as it is without getting into more trouble with the press.”

“I would never,” Panek promises before making a hasty retreat. 

\----

Things are incredibly awkward after the Christmas party. Gavin doesn’t know what to do about it. Nothing about the kiss cam made them this uncomfortable. It should have been the same. No harm, no foul, right? 

It’s like that time in high school that he told a girl in his geometry class he liked her, and things had been weird between them the rest of the year. This is different. Gavin hadn’t been friends with that girl. She’d been pretty and smart, two things he wasn’t, and it was just attraction, plain and simple. Nines is different. Nines is one of Gavin’s only friends. They live together, play on the same team, go to all the same places. Still, despite all that, Nines had done an extremely thorough job of avoiding him.

They see each other every day, except for how they don’t. They don’t eat together in the mornings. They don’t carpool to practice or morning skate. Nines is always in his mask, shut off form the world. From Gavin. Gavin never manages to catch him in the locker room, or in their goddamn living room. Gavin feels like a ghost in their house. Except the thing is, it’s not even their house. It’s Nines’s house. Nines could tell him to leave. Could tell him to fuck off for making shit awkward and for screwing up their friendship.

The only thing they’ve managed to do is keep their composure on the ice. The team comes first. They manage that. Team chemistry isn’t fucked, and that’s all Gavin can really be grateful for at the moment.

Gavin has to admit, his holiday season the past few years in a row have been shit. Getting traded last year, and now this. This awful, terrible mess he’s managed to muddle up for himself.

Gavin isn’t even sure of what he would say if he _were_ to catch Nines. Apologize? He doesn’t even know what he would be apologizing for. The kiss, he’s sure, but why? Why is this different? He doesn’t know, but clearly it is. Nines won’t even look at him.

They lose a bad game New Years Eve, and Gavin is _tired_. If this were before the mistletoe, he would sit with Nines on the couch in their spot and they’d watch tv. This is after, though, so he goes home and he hides away in his room with a bottle of red wine.

He types out and deletes several texts. To Tina, to Connor, to Curtis, to North, to _Nines_ , but he doesn’t send any of them. It’s probably better that way. He ignores all the ‘happy new year’ texts he gets, though he sees them all come through because he’s scrolling despondently through Twitter in bed. None of them come from the one name he’s missed seeing, anyway.

Gavin had really been improving on his temper, and his knack for taking penalties at the worst possible time. Truly, he had. He wasn’t leading the league in penalty minutes, though he was still in the top five. 

There’s something about recent events that’s made him a little quicker to take cheap shots. A slashing minor here, a boarding minor there, a couple of fighting majors, and he’s back at his rightful place at the top of the penalty leader board.

Tina calls him weekly, like they have since the trade. 

“So how are things with you and Nines?” she asks, tone suggestive.

“He hasn’t talked to me in a week, thanks for asking. I don’t know what to do.”

“Try lying down in the shower with the water too hot. That’s where I do my best soul-searching.”

“That’s some shit advice. I’m not a fucking girl, Tina. I can’t just hide in daydreams until things are good again,” Gavin snaps, and knows as soon as he’s said it that it was the wrong thing to say. He’s been sent to the sensitivity training classes enough times when he’s fucked up to know he’s gone and done it again.

There’s a pause, and Gavin just knows Tina is waiting for him to realize his mistake. She’s always been more forgiving of his shit. She shouldn’t have to be. Jesus, no wonder Nines doesn’t want to deal with him.

“Sorry,” he says lamely, and knows it isn’t good enough.

Tina takes a deep breath on the other line. “No, you’re not a girl. You’re a grown-ass man who’s too much of a dipshit to talk about his problems with another grown-ass man. You live in the same fucking house. If you actually want to fix things, you have to talk to him instead of wallowing in your self-pity. You do this shit all the time, Gavin. You can’t always expect the other person to extend an olive branch. Lace up, and deal with your shit, Reed. I’ll talk to you later.”

Gavin listens to the sudden silence for a moment before he hangs up.

“What do you want?” North answers when he calls her the third time.

“I fucked up.”

North huffs a laugh. “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t know what you want me to do about it. We all have to deal with the consequences of our actions eventually.”

“I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Grow the fuck up and take responsibility for yourself.”

Gavin hunches over his desk. “I’m trying. I need your help.”

“I don’t think so. You can’t apologize to Tina through me.”

Gavin sighs. “I’ve already sent her something overnight, hand written and everything, but her favorite place there in Detroit doesn’t deliver, and we don’t play each other until next month. This can’t wait that long. So, I was hoping you’d be willing to pick up something and take it to her. If you take it to her, she might actually believe I’m not a completely clueless idiot who hasn’t realized he fucked up. It has to be you. Then maybe she’ll actually open the package I sent her instead of just chunking it like she really ought to.”

North is quiet on the other end of the line for a beat. “I’m buying myself something too.”

“Anything you want,” Gavin agrees. 

North sighs. “You’re a shit, Gavin.”

“I know.”

“She would open it. Even without the buttering up to begin with.”

Gavin closes his eyes. “Yeah, I know she would. I just… I know she shouldn’t have to. She shouldn’t have to keep forgiving me for being a shit.”

“I’ve heard animals bite the hand of the person that gets too close when they’re hurt.”

Gavin doesn’t respond immediately. Eventually, he says, “I’m okay.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re not. We’ve played together a long time, Gavin Reed. Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not the only Bruin I talk to on the semi-regular.”

“You’ve been talking to Nines?”

North snorts. “I have. You know what I think? You need to talk to him. Maybe you’re not the only one feeling like shit.”

Gavin shakes his head, though he knows she can’t see it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Whatever. I’ll pick up your order and deliver it.”

“You’re the best, North. Absolute beauty.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Talk to Nines. Get your shit together. Stop being a fuck.”

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 12:12pm:** ure stupid  
 **Chener, 12:12pm:** you’re lucky I’m so forgiving.  
 **me, 12:13pm:** I know. I’m sorry.

\----

If Gavin were actually a responsible adult, he would take some advice and talk to Nines. He doesn’t. Instead, he hides away in his room, and plays as best he can.

There’s a pressure in his chest that is reaching a boiling point, and it all starts spilling over on a Friday night.

It hasn’t affected his hockey yet, is the thing. Nothing about it has, yet. But it’s a Friday night and he’s just looking to live a little.

He goes out because he can. He’s an adult, and there’s nothing stopping him from cutting loose. He’s going to have a drink, maybe two, and dance. He just wants to be away from the house.

One drink turns into two turns into four. He dances. He doesn’t think about hockey, or Nines, or how everything went so wrong.

At least, not until he’s dancing, and there’s a guy leaning against the edge of the bar. There’s something about the way he holds himself that makes Gavin think of Nines. Actually, a lot about him makes Gavin think of Nines. He turns and catches Gavin watching. Their eyes stay locked until a slow smirk slides over the stranger’s face. Something hot spikes through him, and he doesn’t even consciously decide to walk over to the bar. He gets a water, and by the time the bartender has set it down, the guy is at his side.

“You look like you’re having a good night.”

Gavin drinks half the glass in one go. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t… He doesn’t do this. He sets the glass down carefully, and then turns with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it could be better.”

He wakes up with a pounding headache in an unfamiliar apartment. He groans and doesn’t move for a minute. It’s not the first time, though it’s been awhile. He really shouldn’t have. The guy… shit he doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, shifts in the bed next to him. 

He’s contemplating how bad the nausea is going to be if he sits up, when he remembers he has a game today, and he can’t miss morning skate. He jolts up, stomach churning.

“Fuck, what time is it?”

He sees a clock and feels his heart sink.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He scrambles out of the bed, yanking on his clothes in a rush. 

He finds his phone, cursing again when he realizes it’s dead. 

“Can you call me a cab or something? My phone is dead. I’m in such deep shit.”

The wait for the cab is awkward, and it’s made worse when the guy leans against the doorframe as Gavin gets ready to leave.

“So, do you want my number?”

Gavin rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not… That’s not a good idea.”

The guy shrugs, unbothered. It’s something Nines would do, and Gavin’s head pounds unhelpfully when he thinks it.

“It was fun. You know where I am if you ever need a good time. Good luck with the whole hockey thing. Not a Bruins fan myself, but I’ll root for you if my team doesn’t make it.”

“Please don’t-“

The guy waves him off easily. “I won’t tell, dude. Your secrets safe with me. I have better things to do with my time.”

Gavin nods noncommittally, before he ducks out the door and hurries down to the waiting car.

He gets to the rink, and puts all his gear on in a rush. He slinks down the tunnel and prays he can slip onto the ice without notice. Hopes no one missed him, and everyone will think he was there the whole time. He’s twenty-three minutes late.

Coach sees him immediately. 

“Reed, get your ass over here.”

The entire team turns to look at him.

He skates over, trying not to squint at the glare of the ice.

“You okay, son?”

Gavin nods. “Yes, sir. Just overslept.”

“Get going, then. You know the rules.”

“Yes, sir,” Gavin says, and tries not to visibly slump. 

He goes off the ice, keeping his gaze on his skates so he doesn’t have to see his teammates watching him.

He rides the stationary bike hard, until he’s sure that his teammates will have cleared out and went home for their pregame routines.

Coach doesn’t have to tell him that he’s sitting out. He’s seen it enough to know. Despite all the times he’s been scratched, it’s never been a team instituted punishment for his off-ice behavior. He’s been scratched for questionable hits by the league, and of course he’s sat for injury. 

Now, he’s been scratched because he was a fucking moron. He feels like absolute shit, and the hard workout isn’t helping anything. He staggers a little getting off the bike, and shuffles back into the locker room. It’s empty, as he had hoped it would be.

He takes a shower, water as cold as he can stand it, like he would if he were going to play tonight instead of sit in the press box.

He’s so lost in his misery as he pulls on his clothes that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

“You could have at least said something.”

He whips around, heart in his throat. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that.”

Nines’s face is completely expressionless in a way Gavin has never seen it.

“You didn’t come home last night. I was fucking worried. Then, this morning you weren’t here, and no one could get ahold of you. You could have at least let me know you were okay.”

Gavin pulls his shirt on over his head before he answers. “My phone died, and I overslept. Not that I have to answer to you. You’re not my mom and you’re not my boyfriend.”

Nines doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and yanks down the collar of Gavin’s shirt. Gavin knows there’s a purple bruise on his collarbone.

Nines’s face is still eerily blank when he pulls back. “No, you’re right. I’m just the guy who relies on you to help our team win games. Hard to do that when you’re sitting in the press box. Sorry for worrying about your well-being. Hope your fuck was worth it.”

Gavin watches him go, and drags a hand roughly through his hair.

When he finally gets around to charging it, his phone blows up with notifications.

He stares at it for awhile before he tosses his phone away in disgust. What the fuck is he doing?

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 11:47pm:** Hey man, where u at?   
**Chener, 12:54am:** Dude, come on. This isn’t funny.  
 **Chener, 3:12am:** Gavin, please tell me you’re okay. Nines is really worried. He’s called me twice just to make sure I haven’t heard from you. Just tell someone where you are. Please. Please be okay.  
 **Chener, 11:12am:** You are such a fucking asshole, Gavin Reed. I was worried out of my mind thinking you were hurt or God knows what. I didn’t sleep at all last night waiting to hear something, and I know Nines didn’t either. Then I find out second hand that you’re fine, just getting trashed and ignoring everyone who actually gives a shit about you. 

 

**[North]**

**North, 1:23am** Would you fucking answer Tina?  
 **North, 2:01am** Hey, you are okay, right?  
 **North, 11:23am** I’m going to kill you. 

 

**[Nines]**

**Nines, 11:22pm:** Are you coming home tonight?  
 **Nines, 11:56pm:** You remember we have a game tomorrow, right?  
 **Nines, 12:44am** Would you at least tell me you are okay?  
 **Nines, 1:39am** Gavin.  
 **Nines, 2:34am** Please just tell me you aren’t hurt.

 

**[Brownie]**

**Brownie, 9:38am** Hey dude, Nines is kind of freaking out. Actually, we’re all a little worried. If you could hit someone up, let us know you aren’t dead, we’d appreciate it. Morning skate starts in like twenty-minutes, are you’re not here yet.

 

**[Panek!]**

**Panek!, 9:44am** Hey, are you alright? No one has heard from you, not even Tina. Nines said you never came home last night. Do you need someone to come get you from somewhere? I won’t judge, man. Just tell me you’re okay, and what you need and I’ll make it happened. 

 

He really doesn’t know how to apologize for this. For anything, really, but he better fucking figure it out. They’re hardly a week into January and he’s already putting nails into a coffin for the year.

\----

His teammates forgive him easily enough. 

“Man, it happens. You aren’t the first guy to oversleep a morning skate, and you won’t be the last. We’ll manage,” Brownie tells him easily, sitting in his stall as he laces his skates “We were just worried, more than anything. Now that we know you’re okay, we can give you shit for it later.”

Gavin nods, and accepts a fist bump from Panek as he ambles by. “Good luck tonight. Watch your backcheck.”

Panek wags a gloved finger at him. “Don’t try and mentor me when you’ve been benched for being naughty.”

Gavin pushes him along. “You’re still a rookie, even when I’m a dumbass, kid.”

The good cheer in their corner of the locker room dies down as Nines clomps by, already well hidden in his pads and helmet.

Panek watches him go with a furrowed brow before he turns back to Gavin. “He was really worried, dude. You owe him a nice steak dinner or something to make up for it.”

Gavin shakes his head, staring at the back of Nines’s jersey as he disappears down the tunnel for warmups. 

“Not sure even a steak could get him to forgive me, now.”

Brownie stands up, testing the tightness of his laces, before he claps Gavin on the shoulder. “He’s always been a hardass, but not with you. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Gavin doesn’t point out that Nines still hasn’t forgiven him for whatever the fuck he did at the Christmas party, and that this hasn’t helped matters. He just nods along.

In the press box, between plays and periods, he beings the process of groveling for forgiveness from Tina. It’ll be a work in progress, but she doesn’t outright ignore him, so he figures he can worm back into her good graces with enough apologies and sheer stubbornness. He definitely owes her a nice steak dinner, even if that won’t work on Nines.

The guys win the game without him, which he’s grateful for. He feels guilty enough without the what ifs that would have come up if they had lost it. He heads down to the locker room as the game comes to an end, and congratulates the guys on a job well done. He can’t bring himself to look in Nines’s direction. He’s always hated disappointing his goalie, and with Nines it’s even worse. Up until last night, at least Nines could trust his hockey. Now, Gavin’s gone and ruined that, too.

He avoids the press as he leaves, and heads home alone. He’s already hidden away in his room by the time he hears Nines come home.

He thinks, for the first time since the off-season, that maybe it’s time to start looking for a place of his own. He can’t keep doing this. He won’t. He won’t make Nines uncomfortable in his own house, and he won’t live like a ghost, afraid to take up space.

They’re playing Toronto at home, and the game is chippy from the start. He takes a hard hit on his first shift, and things just spiral from there. 

Mid-way through the first period, Nines leaves his crease to play the puck behind the net. The Leafs player coming in after the puck doesn’t slow up, and doesn’t make any effort to not slam full-bodied into Nines.

Nines stumbles on his skates, and goes down hard.

Gavin doesn’t see red. Everything settles into an eerie kind of calm.

There’s a white jersey in his hand before he can even think. Gavin throws some nasty punches and doesn’t take a single hit in return. When the refs pull him away, he still feels that cold sense of calm all through his limbs.

“Don’t fucking touch him, do you hear me? Don’t you ever fucking touch him.”

The other guys on the ice are watching, eyes wide. Gavin doesn’t know what it must have looked like. There’s blood on the ice, on his knuckles, on his jersey. 

He gets ejected from the game, but it’s fine. He doesn’t even really care because Nines goes down the tunnel but comes back out before the first even ends. He gets a shutout, and as long as Nines is fine, Gavin doesn’t care what else happened in the game. He doesn’t.

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 4:42pm:** Do you want to talk about it?   
**me, 5:59pm:** there’s nothing to talk about.  
 **Chener, 6:00pm:** You’re scaring me, Gavin.

 

Gavin goes home, and drinks a bottle of wine in their kitchen in the dark. He’s mostly through a second, when the lights suddenly flip on and he’s looking into Nines’s wide eyes.

There’s an awkward pause as they look at one another.

“Why don’t you like me anymore?”

It sounds just as pathetic coming out of his mouth as he thought it would, but he can’t take it back now. With the alcohol burning in his veins, he doesn’t really find it as embarrassing as he probably should. 

Nines stares at him. “What?”

Gavin nods muzzily. “I know, I messed up, but I don’t know how, and you won’t talk to me so I can’t even fix it. I miss you.”

Gavin laughs, then, ugly and slightly unhinged.

“Isn’t that fucking stupid? You’re right there. We live together. We play on the same team, but it’s like you’re not even here.”

Nines steps into the kitchen, and grabs his arm gently. “Why don’t we get you to bed, huh?”

“Okay,” Gavin says quietly. 

Nines stops in the doorway on his way out. 

“I never stopped liking you,” he says as he flips the light off.

Gavin starts looking for houses the next morning, sitting in the kitchen with his laptop and a notebook. He jots down listings, and relator phone numbers.

House hunting sucks. He hates it. The floorplans are awkward and confusing, and there’s always something wrong. The backyard is on a slant. The closet is tiny. The kitchen is cramped. There’s a sink in the hallway. What is that even doing there?

He taps his pen on the table restlessly, and wonders if maybe he’s making excuses because he hates moving. He doesn’t even have furniture anymore.

He’s staring at a somewhat promising listing when Nines come in, still bleary eyed and in his pajamas.

He pauses when he notices Gavin, but then continues on his mission to the pot of coffee on the counter, which Gavin made when he started this whole house endeavor.

Gavin tries to scroll through the pictures, but he’s hyper aware of Nines moving around behind him. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Nines is looking over his shoulder.

“Are you looking at houses?”

Nines sounds bewildered, holding his mug loosely like he’s forgotten it’s there.

“Yeah. I… Look,” Gavin says, turning so he can look at Nines fully. “I know I’ve fucked up, and I won’t make you uncomfortable in your own house. I may not fully know what I’ve done, but I know I did something, okay? I realize that. So, I’ll find a place, and be out of your hair so you can go about your life in peace.”

Nines blinks, clearly surprised. He sets his coffee down on the island, shaking his head. “No. No, look. Shit. I’ve handled this situation poorly, and for that I apologize, but it’s been me. You don’t have to go. Unless you want to go, that is.”

“Nines, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to say that just because you feel guilty or like you have to. Don’t do that.”

Nines shakes his head adamantly. “I’m not just saying that. Don’t go.”

Gavin opens his mouth, to protest again because he’s thickheaded most of the time, but he knows Nines can’t actually enjoy having him here with all the shit he’s done.

Nines takes a breath and cuts him off. “I want you to stay. Please.”

Gavin looks at him, uncertain. “If you’re really sure.”

Nines nods, grabs his coffee, and retreats out of the kitchen in a way Gavin would almost classify as running.

Gavin sits at the table in confusion. He closes his notebook, but doesn’t tear out the list he made. He’ll keep it, just in case.

\----

Gavin and Nines are walking back to the car from a team dinner, quiet and carefully spaced apart. Things have still been stilted and awkward, but they’re talking to each other off the ice, now. Gavin will take any little thing he can get. 

They’re heading into their bye week, and then straight into the All-Star break. It’s near the end of January, and there’s a thick layer of snow on the ground. Gavin is glad for the break. He needs some time to figure things out, and hockey makes serious contemplation hard. 

Gavin almost doesn’t see it at first, huddled underneath a bench and banked by snow on all sides. He just notices a dark smudge, and slows enough to get a better look. He’s a nosy guy, sue him.

“Shit, hold on Nines, I think that’s-“ he trails off as he kneels in the snow near the bench.

The kitten he picks up is tiny, and Gavin can barely feel it trembling in his hand. 

“Who the fuck leaves a kitten out in the snow? It’s freezing cold. We need to get it home. Who knows how long it’s already been out here,“ Gavin says urgently, already tucking the shivering mass into his jacket.

Nines is watching him, eyes wide.

“We can’t keep it, Gavin. Come on, it’s hardly bigger than a puck. We’re not going to be able to take care of it.”

“Dude, I’m not just going to leave it here.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that!”

“We’ll keep it through the night and take it to the vet in the morning and see what we can do.”

Gavin spends the night fretfully hovering around the kitten while Nines googles what they should be doing, and how to do it. The kitten cries anytime one of them isn’t within sight, and eventually they end up taking turns holding the thing while it sleeps. Gavin almost hates when it’s quiet more than when it’s crying. He can’t help but worry anytime it’s silent that the poor little thing didn’t make it.

They’re the first people through the door when the vet’s office opens at seven.

“If you guys could just fill out these forms, and I’ll have a vet right in for you!” the receptionist says to them cheerily. 

Gavin takes the clipboard.

 

He fills them out as best he can, and then stares at the blank where he’s supposed to fill in a name uncertainly. 

Nines snorts when Gavin writes ‘PUCK’ but doesn’t say anything. The newly dubbed Puck is carefully tucked into the crook of Nines’s neck, and Nines doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to set the furball down.

The vet tuts disapprovingly when she sees the kitten, taking it from Nines with a practiced ease, and immediately beginning to check it over.

“You say you found her outside?”

Gavin and Nines speak at the same time.

“It’s a her?” Gavin asks.

“We did,” Nines confirms. 

“She’s a girl, yes. Underweight. Probably about four weeks. Frankly, I’m surprised she survived the freezing temperatures in her state, but she must be a fighter. Aren’t you?”

The vet takes her temperature, then checks her mouth and the insides of her ears. Puck cries the whole time, making valiant attempts to escape the vet and get back to Gavin, standing closest. 

“Honey, it’s okay. The nice vet is just trying to make sure you’re in good shape. Please, stop crying. You’re killing me, doll,” Gavin tells her, wanting to scoop her up just so she stops the pathetic mewling as the vet handles her.

The vet eventually concludes her examine, leaning back against the counter. Puck immediately darts across the table to Gavin.

“She’s already taken a liking to you, it seems,” the vet notes.

Gavin shrugs, but doesn’t deny it.

“So, she’s as healthy as can be expected with the conditions you found her in. She’s underweight, which is definitely the biggest concern I have for her as of right now. She needs to eat every three hours. They sell kitten formula at most pet stores, but I can give you some stuff to get you started, if you like.”

“Yes,” Gavin says immediately. 

The vet nods. “Okay, I’ll get some stuff for you guys and you can be on your way. She needs to come back in about a week, just to make sure everything is going okay. Of course, if you notice anything that seems wrong, bring her in immediately.”

The vet leaves, presumably to get them their kitten starter kit, and Nines glares at him.

“What?”

“We can’t keep her, Gavin. She’s going to need constant attention for at least the next two weeks. She needs to eat every three hours! What are we going to do when we have games? Road trips?”

“We’re off all week! Then we can find her a sitter on the days we’re gone.”

“Gavin, be realistic. It’s like having a child.”

Gavin holds Puck closer to his chest. “Players have kids all the time while still playing.”

“Normally they have a partner that isn’t on the team with them.”

“Kara and Luther did it.”

Nines rubs his temples. “Gavin.”

“Nines.”

Puck meows helpfully, and then squirms until Gavin puts her down. He watches, slightly smug, as she scampers across the ground to Nines and claws her way up his pant leg.

Nines sighs as she settles on his shoulder, like a parrot but way cooler.

“If it gets to be too much, we have to rehome her. We can’t let her health suffer just because we want her.”

Gavin nods quickly, mind latching onto the way Nines said ‘we’. “Of course.”

\----

Once Puck is comfortable in the house, she’s the most vocal, rambunctious thing Gavin has ever seen. She’s into everything, climbing into cabinets and up the bookshelves. Constantly knocking things over, and then darting away as the noise startles her. She cries whenever she can’t find them. Cries when one of them is missing from the room. Cries whenever she’s tired or hungry. Cries when she loses her toy under furniture or a closed door. 

She likes to sleep in the hamper, amid all their smelly, sweaty clothes. It’s a bit of a shock the day they figure that one out. Nines can’t find her and they tear about the house looking only to find her fast asleep on a pair of Gavin’s ratty gym shorts in the laundry basket.

Overall, she’s pretty great. 

On top of being the best thing ever, she’s managed to mend whatever was messed up between him and Nines. It’s like back before everything went to shit. 

Except, well…

Gavin wakes up on the morning of their first game since the All-Star break with a crick in his neck from having slept on the couch. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch. They’d been watching a movie, last he remembers. Now, they’re sprawled out on the couch, Gavin’s face tucked into one side of Nines’s neck with Puck curled up on the other. Gavin sits up, careful not to wake them. He stares down at the two of them, fond and…

Oh.

_Oh._

Gavin’s chest constricts tightly with his sudden realization, and he sucks in a surprised breath.

How the fuck had he not realized before? Even after all of Tina’s teasing, and North’s pointed comments. He’s so fucking dumb. 

Holy shit.

He gets up jerkily to go have a mini freak-out in the kitchen, with the pretense of starting breakfast.

His panic is interrupted not ten minutes later as Puck comes streaking into the kitchen, meowing for her breakfast. Nines is close behind her, rubbing his back with a grimace. 

“Yeah, couch isn’t great,” Gavin says, determined to not act any differently. They only just got back to normal. He’s not going to fuck this up again.

They go about the morning, and then they’re heading to the rink for morning skate. It’s going to be the longest they’ve left Puck home alone. For the game, she’ll be going to stay at Brownie’s place with his wife. Gavin spent the better part of the day before looking for someone to look after her. 

“I’m going to have to retire, Nines,” he had said, only half joking. 

Nines had looked up from where he was trying to get Puck’s dinner together.

“Just see if Brown’s wife will take her for the day.”

Meghan is more than happy to watch her, and even puts up with the overbearing instructions Gavin sends to her. 

Puck doesn’t seem the least bit bothered about the car ride, or Meghan, until they try to leave her behind.

She cries and wiggles in Meghan’s hold until Gavin is close to calling the whole thing off. He doesn’t need to play hockey. It may be his childhood dream, but his baby is crying and she _needs_ him. Nines pulls him out of the house with a grimace. 

“She’ll be okay. If she isn’t, we’ll have bigger problems.”

Gavin scowls, but knows Nines is right. It still feels like they’re making sure they can handle her. Especially now that they’re adding hockey back into the schedule. It was easy enough when they weren’t getting up for morning skates or practices and playing games late into the night.

Even with taking turns getting up to feed her, Gavin underestimated how tired he would be by the end of a game when he hasn’t really been sleeping through the night. They win the game, but Gavin feels like he was moving at a glacier speed compared to his line mates. Especially Panek, who always skates circles around him, but seemed to be halfway up the ice before Gavin even realized they were moving in the other direction.

The press, vultures that they are, noticed. Of course, they did.

“You seemed a little tired out there, despite having a week off.”

Gavin snorts, rubbing sweat off his face with a towel. “Yeah, well, baby cries every three hours. Not exactly at 100%. I’ll adjust. Guys do it all the time, right?”

“Baby?” 

Gavin nods, finishing his press easily enough, and then waits for Nines to finish his so they can go pick up Puck and go home.

“I hear there’s a baby in the house,” one of the reports says to Nines. “How did that happen?”

Nines rolls his eyes at Gavin fondly. “It wasn’t exactly planned. Gavin saw her, and couldn’t leave her behind. Not like I could say no to her, either.”

“How’s that work with both of you playing a professional sport?”

Nines shrugs. “We’re working the schedule out for that. Meghan Brown is watching her tonight. If that goes well, hopefully she won’t mind doing it until we don’t need her to anymore.”

As soon as Nines finishes and is dressed, they’re heading for the car.

Meghan opens the door and smiles at them. 

“She did fine, just so you know. She stopped crying once you guys were gone. She’s a wild little thing, isn’t she?”

Nines laughs, and the sound of their voices must draw Puck out from wherever she was, because suddenly she’s clawing her way up Nines’s nice slacks. 

“Puck,” he chides, gently detangling her from the fabric.

“She’s so cute,” Meghan says, grinning. “We had a good time. We watched the game together. It’s crazy but I think she knew. She played with her toy or slept until one of you two was on the screen.”

“What a smart girl,” Gavin coos at Puck, leaning into Nines’s space to pet her.

“Thank you for watching her,” Nines says as they head for the door.

“Of course. Way easier than handling the toddlers,” Meghan replies with a laugh.

Gavin falls into bed almost as soon as they get home, and is out like a light.

In the morning, he sees the articles. 

“I’m not sure why I didn’t see this happening,” Gavin says to Nines at the table.

**’Anderson Adopts, and Not the One You’re Thinking’**

 

**[Chener]**

**Chener, 8:02am:** What the fuck? How dare you not tell me about your child. Where are the pictures???  
 **me, 8:21am:** [attachment: 20420201_3465.jpg]  
[attachment: 20420201_3466.jpg]  
[attachment: 20420201_3467.jpg]  
[attachment: 20420201_3468.jpg]  
 **Chener, 8:23am:** Oh my god. Oh my god. It’s a cat. Oh my god, Gavin I’m howling.  
 **me, 8:23am:** How very dare you laugh at my child? Your very own goddaughter.   
**Chener, 8:24am:** And I love and would die for her without question. She’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. But Connor and Markus are losing their shit thinking you guys adopted an actual human baby and just nonchalantly broke it to the world via aftergame presser.   
**me, 8:25am:** Wtf. Why would they think that? Why would anyone think that??? If I adopted a kid, I would announce it to the world in a much cooler way than to NESN while sweating my balls off in my hockey pads.  
 **Chener, 8:26am:** I mean… Look, if you told me you had adopted a little girl with Nines, I wouldn’t exactly be shocked.  
 **me, 8:27am:** Wtf is that supposed to mean??  
 **Chener, 8:27am:** Oh gosh, would you look at the time. Gotta be at the rink for practice. Tell my goddaughter that I love her very much.  
 **me, 8:27am:** TINA!!!!

 

**[North]**

**me, 8:28am:** Why does Tina think it’s reasonable to assume Nines and I adopted a little girl?  
 **North, 8:28am:** LOL, oh honey.  
 **me, 8:29am:** >:(

\----

It becomes a sort of inside joke with the team. Someone even puts mugs in their stalls that say ‘World’s Best Dad’, front and center above their nameplates. No one clarifies that they adopted a kitten with the media, though of course the team knows. Gavin shows them pictures daily, much to the exasperation of everyone else in the room.

“How come Brownie’s the only one that’s actually met your kid?? As your favorite rookie, I should be allowed to meet her,” Panek complains loudly in the locker room.

“Brownie’s only met her because Meghan is the only person Gavin will trust with her,” Nines says, pulling his helmet down over his face.

Panek looks at Brownie, who shrugs, unbothered.

“If that is supposed to mean I’m the only one who’s over protective, you yelled at me just yesterday because I put her on the counter and that’s ‘too high’ and ‘she could have fallen’,” Gavin says, pointing at Nines.

“She could have!”

“One, I was right there. Two, she gets down from everything else just fine.”

Gavin doesn’t have to see Nines’s face to know he’s scowling.

“Okay, dads calm down,” Brownie complains.

“It’s okay, you can’t be too careful,” Panek argues. 

Gavin narrows his eyes. “You’re on thin ice, bud. But I guess you can come see her.”

Panek lights up. “Yeah? Yes! Suck it, you losers. I get to meet the baby.”

Everyone else in the room groans. 

“That’s not fair, vets first, man,” Henriksen calls out.

“One at a time. We don’t want to overwhelm her,” Nines says with finality, before he walks down the tunnel to the ice for practice.

Gavin nods in agreement. “Exactly.”

“Oh my god, you two are too much,” Brownie says, throwing a ball of tape at him.

When the media asks for pictures, it’s the same canned story from the entire team.

“We want to keep her out of the limelight until she’s older. She deserves a normal childhood, without her baby pictures plastered all over every news outlet,” Gavin tells his crowd.

“When she’s older,” Nines says, firm, as one of the reporters gathered around him won’t let the subject go.

“Of course, I’ve seen her. She’s as adorable a baby as one could expect. Meghan just loves her. I’m lucky she hasn’t kept her yet,” Brownie says, shaking his head for the benefit of his own scrum.

Panek is all gushing smiles. “I would love to show you pictures, but the dads are very clear.”

It isn’t until in the middle of March, once they’ve for sure clinched their spot in the playoffs and Puck is three months old, that they post the first pictures to their social media accounts.

The responses to the revelation that the kid in their house is actual a small kitten range from amused to angry for the imagined deceit. 

“We never said it was a human. People just assumed. We couldn’t help that.” Gavin says with a shrug.

“It’s not exactly anyone’s business. Why clarify anything? We’re professional athletes, but that doesn’t mean people have a right to know everything about our private lives,” Nines replies flatly when someone asks him. “We adopted a kitten. Move on.”

That seems to be the end of that.

Playoffs are always tough. It’s just the way of the sport. The long grind of the season weighs on everyone. Little aches becoming nagging pains become injuries. The stress makes it hard to keep weight on. No one wants to stop though. No one wants to sit out. It doesn’t matter what the ailment is, you’re in. It’s the Cup. It’s all for the Cup.

Nines looks at him one evening, sitting with Puck in his lap, and nods sharply, once. “I want to win it. I want us to win.”

Gavin doesn’t even think about pointing out that they all do. It feels more poignant than that.

“We’ll get it. I’ll get it for you.”

And at the time, he believes it.

Playoffs start good. They win round one in five. They sweep round two. The conference final is ruthless and goes to seven games, but they take that one too.

Then it’s the Stanley Cup Final. They’re playing the Kings, and the Kings play hard hitting hockey. The kind of hockey where it’s about out muscling the opposition. They’re big, and they play the kind of physical games that leave everyone banged up and bruised. 

Gavin takes a crushing hit in game six. The kind of hit that makes him think ‘out indefinitely’ and ‘season-ending surgery’. The kind of hit where trainers are stepping out onto the ice, and the arena is so, so quiet. It doesn’t matter that they’re not on home ice. No one really likes to see a player go down.

Gavin grits his teeth, and gets his skates under him. He subtly uses his stick to help heft himself to his feet. By the time the trainer gets to his side, he’s smiling tightly.

“Fine. I’m fine. Just winded, is all.”

They look skeptical, and Gavin knows at the end of the game he’ll be ushered to a see a doctor. He didn’t hit his head though, so they really can’t make him leave unless he asks them to. They’re in the third period, and they’re down by one. If they lose this game, they lose the Cup. He’s not leaving the team now. He made a fucking promise. 

So play goes on. They tie it with two minutes left to go in the third. Gavin scores the winner in overtime. They force a game seven. They’re still in it.

As he expected, the trainers force him to the room to get checked out. Then, he’s being quietly ushered to a hospital. He listens to the doctor, nods in understanding, and then gets on the team plane. 

He takes practice the next morning with the guys, and tries not to wince. Tries not to bend the wrong way. Tries not to let anyone notice what’s going on.

Then.

Then they lose game seven.

The final score is 4-3. Gavin does his part. He’s only ever had a handful of multi-point games, but he had two in this one. He tried. He really fucking tried. 

He shakes hands, and watches the Cup get passed over to the other team. He doesn’t cry, though some of the guys do. He wants to. Losing on home ice. Knowing they almost had it.

It’s tough, and Gavin _hurts_. In more ways than one.

**’Bruin’s forward Gavin Reed played Game 7 with a separated shoulder, torn muscles, torn cartilage, a broken rib, and a punctured lung.’**

Gavin goes straight to see the doctors after game seven. 

Nines is waiting for him when he gets home.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something? Why the fuck would you play like that?”

Gavin is tired, and he had to have a trainer drop him off because they gave him enough oxycodone he’s ready to pass out. He’s not ready to deal with Nines. He’s not ready to deal with anyone.

Puck circles around his ankles, and he hardly feels a thing when he leans down the pick her up. He rests his face in her fur, and she lets him.

“I don’t know. I just… We almost had it. I wanted it. I told you I’d get it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have. You didn’t have to.”

“You said you wanted us to win it, though. So I wanted to win it.”

Nines is watching him, and Gavin is too high to really read his expression. “I said I wanted _us_ to win it.”

“I know. That’s what I just said?”

Nines shakes his head. “No. You misunderstood me. I want to win it with _you_. Not just… I want it to be with you.”

“Okay?”

Nines runs a hand through is hair, and gestures towards Gavin and Puck jerkily. “I want to win it with you. I want to bring the cup home, and I want to put Puck in it because that’s what the guys with kids and families do. I want to take stupid pictures and I want to celebrate with _you_. Do you understand?”

Gavin shakes his head slowly because the oxy must be absolutely fucking with him.

“Look, I know you said it didn’t matter. I heard you, so I let it go. I let it be, but I can’t be quiet and watch you kill yourself for something thinking it’s what I wanted. I don’t want that. I don’t want the Cup if you can’t appreciate it. I don’t want the Cup if you get hurt for it. It’s not worth it.”

“Wait. You gotta slow down, man. I’m high as a kite. What did I say didn’t matter?”

Nines looks uncomfortable, posture rigid. “After the Christmas party, in the morning. I was walking by your room when you said it was just mistletoe.”

Gavin stares at him over Puck, before he sets her down hastily. “What the fuck are you talking about? I told Tina that because she wouldn’t fucking leave me alone about it. Panek told her about it, and she was riding my ass about you. Then, you avoided me for almost a month and I thought I’d fucked everything up. I thought you hated me, or some shit. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done and you wouldn’t even talk to me. Is it because you heard me talking to Tina?”

Nines grimaces. “I was trying to give myself time to… adjust. I needed space. You didn’t feel the same way, and that’s fine. I’m fine. I just needed some time.”

“Nines. Conan. I need you to tell me flat out, man. I need you to say it. Please.”

“I have feelings for you,” Nines says, voice flat and expression fixed firmly on a spot somewhere over Gavin’s shoulder.

“Oh, thank fuck. I wasn’t sure if the pain killers were making me hear things. It was never just mistletoe, Anderson. You think I’d adopt a kitten with just anyone? You think I’d play with a punctured lung for just anyone? I couldn’t fucking breathe all night, but I wanted to win the cup for _you_. I told you I would, and I was going to do it. I was going to. I would have. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to. I tried my best because I fucking love you. I didn’t have any other choice.”

Nines steps forward, but stops uncertainly. 

“Please, please come over here. Nines. _Nines_.”

Nines does, and Gavin kisses him with everything he has in him. Which, unfortunately, is not a lot. He pulls away, and everything is fuzzy at the edges, but Nines’s face is in perfect focus.

“I would keep doing this. I really would, but I’m dead on my feet. Can we just… go to bed? I don’t even know how I managed to stay standing this long.”

“Of course, Gavin. We can do whatever you want.”

Gavin thinks that tomorrow, he’ll feel more broken up about the game. It’ll truly set in, and that hollowness that follows a season ending loss will finally register. Now, though, he’s floating pleasantly in the medicine and in the fact that Nines is carefully rearranging them so they fit together on the bed without putting pressure on Gavin’s bad side. 

Gavin tugs gently on Nine’s hair after several minutes of silence. “Hey, next season, okay? I’ll get it for you.”

Nines huffs a laugh, and carefully pulls him in close to press a kiss into his temple. “Next season, then.”

**’Gavin Reed and Conan Anderson: Boston’s power couple. No, for real this time.’**

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks. Hope it was worth the wait, if any of y'all were waiting. 
> 
> Patrice Bergeron of the Boston Bruins did in fact play with that long list of maladies I borrowed for Gavin in the 2013 Stanley Cup Final where they lost to the Chicago Blackhawks. Every year, at locker clean out, players announce the injures they were playing through for the playoffs. It's one of the shittier parts of hockey culture, tbh, but whatcha gonna do.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
